


Wildcat

by Hubris_Plus



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beast Island (She-Ra), Canon-Typical Violence, Catra Has Issues (She-Ra), F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hubris_Plus/pseuds/Hubris_Plus
Summary: “Congratulations!”  Catra called over her shoulder as she raced along the tree line, “you’re the slowest things on the island!”The pookas on her tail gave an enraged shriek, and one launched itself towards her.  She was priming herself to leap aside when a violet bolt caught the creature midair.“Do you have to taunt them like that?”  Micah asked.  He shot a wary glare at the tree line and lowered his staff as the remaining pookas scrambled back into the forest.“Something to remember me by,” Catra answered as they walked along the beach.  “This place is gonna get boring once we’re gone.”--Catra was banished as a child and survived the wilderness for six long years.  Now she's making her way back to the wider world, carrying only a promise, a grudge, and the harsh lessons of Beast Island.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

_Six Years Ago_

Catra jerked awake with a gasp, head rattling against a too-low ceiling she couldn’t see. Her eyes adapted quickly, drinking in what little light there was, and the view did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves.

She was in a long metal tube. The seams above her were barely visible by the dim light they let through, outlining a hatch. She couldn’t make out any kind of handle or release lever, and everything felt like it was softly rocking.

The last she remembered, she’d been talking to Shadow Weaver. Well, getting yelled at by Shadow Weaver. It was hard to remember about what, exactly. Something about Adora, and the armory. It was all muddled by red light and the taste of ozone, but two words snapped into focus.

Beast Island.

Every muscle ached with the memory of pain, but she shoved it aside as she started running her hands over the metal above her, claws scrabbling for a grip and carving shallow furrows in the lid.  
  
“Finally awake?” A voice asked from the outside. “I was starting to wonder if we’d get to have a little talk before your trip.”  
  
“ _Octavia_ ,” Catra hissed. She could picture the smug grin on the force captain’s stupid face. She renewed her assault with fresh vigor, slashing indiscriminately at the lid. “Let me out of here before I-”  
  
“Take the other eye?” That was followed by a dark laugh. “I’m actually kind of hoping you’ll break out of there. No one’s protecting you now, kid. No one’s going to care if you’re a little roughed up when you get there.”

Her swipes slowed, and then stopped. Then she threw her head back and _laughed_ , as loud and gleeful as she could. “I got your eye when I was _six!_ You think I won’t kick your butt _now?_ ” She cackled, and hoped Octavia would take the bait. It didn’t matter if she could win, she just needed the lid to _open_.

A fist sized dent was bashed into the metal above her and she recoiled, hands snapping over her ears as the chamber rang like a bell. Her eyes flew over to the barely lit gaps above. Had they grown wider? Had the blow deformed the lid? She couldn’t tell, but she jammed her claw tip in anyways. Any chance was better than none.

The rocking took on a different tempo. The boat was slowing down. She pried harder.

“This is your stop, kitten,” Octavia spoke again. The humor was back in her tone. “I hope you enjoy your stay. It’s been a long time coming.” There was a mocking pat on the hatch, and then Catra could make out the Force Captain’s heavy tread moving away.

A _clang_ reverberated through the tube, and Catra released a strangled yelp as the world dropped out from under her. Gravity resumed with a splash and brackish water briefly poured into the narrow gap she’d managed to force open. She screwed her eyes shut as she heard an engine kick in behind her, the acceleration pressing her back into the thin threadbare padding beneath her.

The trip was brief and choppy, whatever contraption she’d been shoved into nearly bouncing across the waves. Every crash left her joints aching and let in more water through the gap

Finally, everything ground to an abrupt stop, throwing her forward into the top of the tube. The hatch gave a low mechanical whine and slid a few inches to the side before jamming on the dent Octavia had punched into it.

After a few minutes of pounding and scratching at the hinges, Catra heaved herself out and onto the sandy shore. Soaked and bruised, she took a look around to get her bearings. Towards the sea, she could just barely make out the lights of the Horde ship as it moved off through the fog. Inland, the beach transitioned into a wall of trees a dozen times more intimidating than the images she’d seen of the Whispering Wood.

Each of the trunks was thicker than she was tall, and a harsh glow shone through the bark in places. The canopy was so dense that day became night less than ten yards in. A thousand unfamiliar scents assaulted her nose, each less abrasive than the industrial odors that filled the Fright Zone but off putting for their strangeness.

Her fists clenched and a low growl built in her throat. If they thought they’d gotten rid of her, they had another thing coming. She wasn’t going to die here. She was going to get off this rock, get back to Adora, and smash Octavia’s stupid face in.

Catra wasn’t about to let them _win._

wwwwwwwww

_Now_

Catra awoke a little at a time. First, she inhaled a fraction more deeply, scenting the air for anything that didn’t belong in camp. Then her ears performed a slow swivel, taking in the sounds of the forest. Finally, she opened her mismatched eyes, drinking in the dim light that was never _quite_ pitch black thanks to the faint radiance of the trees.

Satisfied that she wasn’t about to be attacked by anything that had wandered close overnight, she reached up and hauled herself out of the rough hammock and onto the branch it was strung from. A couple practiced motions untied either end and rolled it into a tight ball under one arm. She took a few crouched steps along the tree limb before hauling up a bundle on the end of another rope. The bundle unrolled into a patched brown cloak and a pack of the same material. The rope and hammock went into the pack, and the cloak and pack went over her shoulders. She wrenched her spear from where she’d left it embedded in the limb, and slid it into a loop on the bag.

Under the cloak she wore a shirt that was best described as a sack with holes cut for her arms and head, and a skirt cinched around her waist with a length of rope. Both had been patched and repatched as she’d outgrown and damaged them until only a few scraps of muddy Horde red remained. She’d never used to picture herself in a skirt, but she wasn’t a good enough tailor to try for pants. On the long list of sacrifices the island demanded, it didn’t rank too high.

Ready for the day ahead, she ran along the branch and descended the trunk with a few easy leaps. She met the ground with a soft thump, cloak and wild mane of hair settling around her. Her step was relaxed and near silent as she padded along the forest floor, rounding another massive tree to find someone else already sitting at the roots.

He didn’t look up from his pack as she padded over, and she snatched a leaf wrapped bundle from his hand just as he drew it out.  
  
“Morning, old man,” she drawled as she unknotted the rough twine around the bundle. The broad leaves parted to reveal the browned shells of a couple roasted skorpiclops. She popped one into her mouth without a second thought.

Micah snorted at her antics and opened up a second bundle for himself. “I was starting to think you’d sleep until noon again.”

“Nah, not today,” she shook her head and they exchanged conspiratorial, slightly crazed grins. There were vanishingly few things more important to Catra than sleep, but today was one of them.

They made quick work of the rest of their meal, and Micah started drawing rough lines in the dirt with the end of his staff.

“So, if we start at the ridge and work our way down-”  
  
“Nope,” Catra scuffed out one of the lines with her foot. “It’ll take too long if we go together. I’ll hit the stashes north of the ridge, you take south. We meet up at the cave.”

“Too dangerous,” Micah objected. They’d had this argument before, and he didn’t like the way it usually ended.

“Please, it’s not like we don’t split up on hunts every day,” she rolled her eyes. The only reason they’d made as much progress as they had was because one person could go out and hunt for the both of them while the other worked on other things. Micah had hardly had time to _cook_ the food he caught before she’d showed up.

“Hunts don’t cover this much territory or end with carrying more than your body weight. We’ll be sitting ducks by the end of this.”

“Then we each do a couple trips, keep the load light.” Catra dragged her toe across his map in a few arcs that looped back around to their starting point. “That’s faster than sticking together, even with backtracking. We _need_ the daylight,” she added pointedly.

Micah spent a long moment glaring at the diagram they’d sketched out before shaking his head in resignation. “Okay. Just… Be careful out there.”

“Worry about yourself, old man,” she scoffed. “I’m not the one getting on in years.”

“I’m not _that_ old,” he complained as they sealed up their packs and headed for opposite ends of clearing. He pointedly ignored the lock of greying hair that bobbed into his line of sight as he went. That was more stress than age. Had to be. It was hard to judge time on Beast Island, but he was sure he hadn’t been there for more than a few years. A half dozen at the longest.

He focused on that thought, and the ringing of the Signal faded a little farther into the background.

wwwwwwwww

_Six Years Ago_

The survival classes the Horde had drilled into Catra told her she couldn’t just wait at her landing site. She needed water. Food. Shelter. She wasn’t likely to find any of that on the beach.

There had also been sections on signalling for help, but she doubted those would be of much use. Any Horde ship that spotted her attempt would either sit back and laugh or start firing on her location.

So she pressed on into the forest, eyes adapting to the dark as easily as they had when she snuck out of her bunk after curfew. They traced over everything, trying to find any sign of the necessities she’d need.

There were jutting crystalline structures that reminded her uncomfortably of the Black Garnet in Shadow Weaver’s chambers. Slabs of what looked like metal, but had a strange slick texture when she ran her hand over them. She couldn’t decide if the glowing things crowding the roots were alive, or just some kind of weird rocks. Everywhere, there were thick vines dangling like the omnipresent cables of the Fright Zone.

None of it looked anything like what her instructors had said was safe to eat. She wasn’t sure how hungry she’d have to to try them even if they did.

Adora had always been afraid of the beasts when they heard Beast Island stories. The thought of chibbits, scruffers, and razorfins had left her shaking into the night.

Catra had teased her mercilessly for it, then privately shivered at the thought of the plants. Razor-sharp teeth or not, she could _fight_ an animal. She had claws of her own, and trusted herself to use them. But the tales of guff-moss, cragglethorn, or swaybloom? How could she fight a poison that could kill her if she brushed the wrong tree?

She was eying up a bulb lit up from within by orange light when she caught the sound of an exhale. She grinned as her ears swiveled towards the source, behind a nearby tree. She might not have trusted any of the plants, but meat was meat.

Her smile faltered as she felt the ground tremor. She took a step back as a head larger than she was swung out from around the trunk. It had deep set eyes above a long pointed snout that ended in a pointed horn. White scaly skin stretched over sharp looking bones.

That was a _lot_ bigger than a chibbit.

She backed up another step, and that seemed to be some kind of signal. The creature roared, hard enough to send her hair fluttering, but she was already turning to run.

This was fine, she told herself as she poured on the speed. Adora was stronger than her. Rogellio was stronger than her. Even _Lonnie_ was stronger than her. She could beat them because she was _fast_. Fast enough to outrun them, to get in to land a strike and out before they could touch her. Outpacing a reptile larger than a battle tank? Easy.

She felt another wave of humid air wash over the back of her neck, and dived to the side just as those jaws snapped at where she’d just been. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she continued cutting to her right. It slowed as it turned to follow, just a little. Enough to open the gap again.

Catra’s eyes swept over the foliage ahead, looking for anything that might help. Some bushes ahead might slow it down, but she didn’t want to chance them herself either. Were those trees close enough together that it couldn’t squeeze through? She didn’t see the harm in trying.

She sprinted between them and risked a glance over her shoulder. She blinked in confusion when she didn’t see any sign of it through the gap, and shrieked as it barreled straight through the bushes she’d noticed on her left. She had just enough time to note that avoiding those had been the right call before a bolt of violet light struck the side of the thing’s head.

She took advantage of it swinging around to roar at the source and threw herself at the nearest tree. Her claws sank into the trunk and she started scrambling up. She only paused to look down once she was sure she’d gotten high enough to stay out of its reach.

She felt her jaw drop as she saw there was someone below her, fighting the thing. Their ragged gray cloak fluttered around them as they ducked and weaved, avoiding the lizard’s snapping jaws by bare inches. Something in their hands kept flashing with that same violet light, and for a second she thought that they had some kind blaster. Maybe a modified Horde baton?

Then they drew a circle in the air with their fingertips and sent the beast stumbling with a wave of force. Catra barely restrained a hiss at the sight. _Magic_. She was as far from Shadow Weaver as she was ever going to get, and there was _still_ magic. Maybe she’d get lucky and the two of them would kill each other.

Of course she wasn’t that lucky. Luck was something that happened to other people. A few more staggering waves, followed up by a gleaming whip of energy, and the lizard was lumbering away with a limp.

Catra held her breath as whoever it was looked around, her ears twitching as she caught snatches of words. “...was here...could have sworn…”  
  
Magic _and_ nuts. She decided to just hold still and wait for him to leave. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than some kind of bug scuttled around the trunk towards her. It was the size of her hand, with pale carapace and a single eye that looked almost as large as her own. She managed to keep quiet as it got close to her. She only made the smallest of squeaks as it crawled onto her arm.

She couldn’t help but yelp and start swatting at it as she felt it climb into her hair. With just one hand sunk into the tree her grip was much less certain. She started to slip, claws leaving long cuts in the bark as she descended, until her thrashing dislodged her entirely.

The fall didn’t concern her too badly. Instinct kept her feet pointed downwards, and a flex of her legs absorbed the worst of the impact. But the landing left her standing right in front of the strange magic user.

From this angle she could see under his hood. He was a human man, torso crossed with scars. He had a beard and shoulder length hair not quite as wild as her own, both streaked with grey the way only the very oldest people in the Horde had.

“Oh! I was starting to think I’d imagined you.” He crouched a bit to match her height and cupped his chin in thought. “I’m… Not imagining you, right?”

“Stay back!” She hissed. She kept one hand in front of her, claws extended, to ward him off. The other combed through her hair, flicking the bug out and to the ground.

“Apologies,” he raised his own hands, palms out, and moved back. “It’s been… Some time since I’ve seen anyone else.”

Catra just waited, legs tensed and ready to pounce at the stranger or leap away. Her tail lashed behind her as her eyes flicked around.

“I’m Micah,” he went on after she didn’t say anything for a moment. “You don’t have to tell me your name, but,” his eyes seemed to slide off of her, and she tensed as he leaned to the side. “Are you going to eat that?” He asked, pointing behind her.

She made a slow turn to the side, making sure to keep an eye on Micah as she did, before glancing towards where he was pointing. The bug she’d clawed from her hair was stuck on its back, legs scrabbling at the air as it tried to turn over.

“All yours,” she snorted. She didn’t relax, but she lowered her hands as she stepped back to make a path.

“That’s very generous, thank you,” he smiled as he stepped past her and crouched to grab at the bug. “I could repay you, if you’d like to come back to-”

With his back turned and balance compromised, Catra took her chance and _ran_. She bolted back along the path she’d just fled down, then ducked to the side and started weaving her way through the trees. Shouts for her to wait started up behind her, but she ignored them. She wasn’t about to tangle with a sorcerer, not on her first day.

Maybe later, when she had a better handle on the situation.

wwwwwwwww

_Now_

Catra padded along the forest floor, bare feet silent as her own ears searched for anything trying to catch her unawares. Each step was almost languid, finding a spot that wouldn’t rustle leaves or snap twigs without conscious thought.

Her eyes flicked up, both to search for anything hiding in the canopy and check for a route of her own. There were advantages and disadvantages to getting out of reach of the larger ground bound predators. For now she decided to stay low, if only to conserve energy.

She frowned as she came up on her first stop. It was an old tree, with a hollow about ten feet up the trunk. She and Micah had scraped it out and covered the hole with branches and leaf litter. Leaf litter that she could already spot from the wrong side of the tree.

She huffed as she rounded the trunk. Broken branches and scattered leaves were strewn over the forest floor, and the trunk had been scored with deep claw marks. A leap brought her high enough to grip the edge of the hollow with her claw tips, and she pulled herself up to peer in. Her fists clenched hard enough to crack the wood as she was greeted by the sight of torn cloth and a few dark stains. The low ringing in her ears grew a little louder, whispering that her plan had failed. That _she_ had failed. That she’d never escape.

Catra took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. It was fine, everything was going to be fine. They’d _expected_ to lose a couple of their caches, and she’d just been unlucky enough to start with the one that got raided.

The scent of food attracted predators. It was why they didn’t just store everything in the cave. Why neither of them ever carried more than one or two meals on their person or at camp. Why they moved every few nights before anything could make a note of where they slept. Just another of the thousand little rules for surviving on Beast Island.

She clawed her way up the trunk to the thick branches of the lower canopy, suddenly full of nervous energy she needed to work out. She pulled herself onto a limb thicker than her torso and paused, nose and ears twitching.

_There_. A small, wiry shape was crouched on another branch, a dozen paces away and a little higher than her own. She waited, not looking away from its single red eye as she listened for shifting paws or chittering jaws.

She allowed herself to relax a fraction as she detected none. Just a lone pooka, then, not part of a hunting pack that had gotten the drop on her. It wouldn’t attack her on its own, but it might lead others her way if it thought she was easy prey.

Catra stood from where she’d been crouched on the branch and lifted her arms so that her cloak caught on her elbows. Claws out and cloth spread behind her, her silhouette multiplied in size in an instant.

The pooka skittered back on its own branch, unhinging its jaw in a growl. She answered with a hiss of her own, twitching her arms to billow her cloak as she did. That proved to be the beast’s limit. It gave a small roar of displeasure, then turned and fled, long limbs whipping it from branch to branch until it was out of sight.

A satisfied smirk made its way onto Catra’s face as she let her cloak resettle around her. That was another rule of the island. Nothing was interested in a _real_ fight. Anything that thought you were vulnerable would be on you in moments, but any sign of a fight would have them running. After all, one meal wasn’t worth the chance of a lucky hit. Any injury from an underestimated opponent became a target for every other beast on the island.

Another check of her surroundings didn’t reveal anything else of concern, and she set off. Her gait was different from the pooka’s lazy swings. She ran over the branch tops, nearly throwing herself from one to the next as she reached their ends or changed directions. She swayed with the limbs beneath her, using their rise and fall as springboards for each leap.

She found herself relaxing into the run. The wind in her hair, the pleasant burn of exertion. She wondered, just for a second, if she might miss this.


	2. Chapter 2

_Six Years Ago_

Catra’s nose twitched as she caught a familiar scent for the first time since she’d left the beach. Water. It didn’t have the same chemical tang to it that all the water in the Fright Zone had had, but she recognised the underlying scent.

That was good. She wasn’t the thirstiest she’d ever been. That honor belonged to a days long outdoor training exercise where Kyle had knocked over the water tank. But this time she didn’t have a canteen to ration, or an instructor who might carry her back to the barracks if she passed out. A source of clean water would mean one more thing she didn’t have to worry about.

She prowled along the forest floor, staying low and slow, only raising her head to take another sniff. The last thing she needed was to draw out another one of those monsters.

A few more bugs like the one she’d gotten caught in her hair crossed her path as she went. Most scuttled away as she drew close, and she did her best to ignore them. One lunged at her in a surprising leap, and she swatted it out of the air so hard it crunched against a tree before falling off and going still.

She eyed it for a long moment before sticking out her tongue and moving along. That old man had seemed to think he could eat them, but she wasn’t hungry enough to try.

Not yet.

The scent was getting strong when she popped her head over a knot of roots and caught sight of a pool of water at least twenty feet across. The forest floor around it was broken up by stones ranging from the size of her fist to a couple that would reach her waist sitting at the shore. There still wasn’t much daylight beneath the thick canopy, but she could see the pinpricks of neon light from the trees reflected in its surface.

There was also a hooded figure crouched beside it, the ragged gray cloth draped over him blending into the gloom. Catra dropped back down the second she realized he was there, pressing herself against the tree to stay out of sight.

Stay, or go? She didn’t know how common something like this would be. Could she be sure she’d find another water source by nightfall? On the other hand, she didn’t want to risk a fight with a magic user. Not that she was afraid. She just needed more information before she tangled with him.

She nodded to herself. She’d wait for him to leave, and watch him until he did. Get enough reconnaissance to take him down when the fight came.

She slowly raised her head back over the root, ears laid flat against her skull. She froze as she caught sight of him again, tail frizzing behind her. His head was turning… Away from her. Had he spotted her? Was he going to attack?

She waited, not daring to breathe for a long moment, but he just stayed in the same position by the edge of the pond. She allowed herself to relax a fraction and took in more details than she’d gathered in the glances she’d managed so far.

The sorcerer… Micah, she remembered, was crouched on a boulder that jutted out a short way into the water. He was leaning out over the pond, and one hand braced against his leg while the other was raised to shoulder height. He was holding a crude wooden shaft there, one end sharpened to a point, and a few more were piled behind him. His stance balanced between relaxed and tense, the same way Adora’s did when they were waiting for the signal to start in the sparring ring. Waiting for the moment to strike.

Time drew out. She couldn’t be sure how much, there wasn’t even the hazy daylight that penetrated the Fright Zone’s smog to judge by. Every so often she would shift, rocking by bare inches, just to flex her legs and avoid a cramp. She didn’t notice the sorcerer doing anything of the sort.

There was a sudden explosion of motion. Between instants Micah had thrust his spear into the water. The splash kept going after the motion was finished, and he used both hands to wrench the tip free of the water. As it came up, Catra could see the fish impaled on the end, still thrashing furiously. A jaw full of needle-like teeth snapped open and shut, but couldn’t quite reach the sorcerer or the spear skewering it.

A razor-fin, she realized.

It was hard to say how long the fish flopped around, but it eventually slowed and stopped. As it did, Micah set it down on broad leaves set out beside him on the boulder. He used them to pull the razor-fin off the spear, then wrapped them around it and slid it into a bag at his side.

Catra ducked back down as he gathered up the rest of his things, ears quivering with focus as she waited for the sound of footfalls leaving the clearing. She waited a few minutes after that, until she was sure he was long gone.

Slinking out of her hiding place, she crept closer to the water. She frowned down at it from a few steps away. It looked clear and cool, but the occasional flashes of movement made her want to avoid putting her hands or face anywhere near the surface.

A look around almost made her slap herself. Now that she wasn’t focused on the sorcerer, she spotted inlet and outlet streams on either end of the pond. She would have found them almost instantly if she’d decided to go around instead of staking out the old man. Padding over, she found that the water was swift moving, clear, and shallow enough that she felt confident there was nothing waiting to snap off her fingers.

She spent a moment drinking eagerly from her cupped palms before resuming her walk around the perimeter. She paused at the stone Micah had been crouched on, and her mouth curved into a predatory grin. The old man must have been losing it. He’d left one of his spears behind.

Taking it up, she eyed the pond. That was water solved. Food too, given some time. Things were looking up.

She mimed a few thrusts with the spear, getting a feel for its weight, then settled into a crouch. She had to tear her eyes from the water a few minutes later as she shook her head and glared at the edges of the clearing. She could see anything, but she could have sworn she heard… _Something_. It was a hard noise to place. The most she could say was that she didn’t like it.

Growling to herself, she settled back in and tried to ignore it.

  
  


wwwwwwwww

  
  


_Now_

Catra dropped from the tree, digging her claws into the trunk about halfway down to slow her fall before leaping the rest of the way to the ground.

It wasn’t quite a clearing, but the trees were more widely spaced than they would be in other parts of the island. A rocky outcrop jutted up from the ground, overgrown by old roots. Other stone debris littered the forest floor, and she could just pick out the trickle of a nearby stream.

The stream didn’t concern her for the moment, except as a landmark. She’d already fetched water on a previous trip, along with most of their other provisions, and dropped them off at the cave. The day had gone smoothly after her first disappointment. Now her bag was weighed down by nuts, soon to be joined by the last cache on her route.

She stepped over to the outcrop, zeroing in on a boulder resting against the side. Claw marks caught her eye, lighter lines against the grey stone. There were dozens of them radiating out from where the boulder met the outcrop.

“Couldn’t resist, could you?” She asked the empty clearing with a smirk. She unslung her spear from her pack and rammed the butt between the stones. “Well, this one’s mine.”

She heaved, angling the spear just so, and the boulder rocked up out of a small dip before rolling aside. Just behind it was a depression that extended a foot back. Inside was a package tightly wrapped in cloth and tied with twine.

Catra leaned in to grab it, then paused. Her ears swiveled, and her tail gave a single lazy flick. She gave an annoyed sigh and picked the bundle up by a loop of twine before standing.

“Not bad. This was either really smart,” she looked up into the canopy as red eyes began lighting up from behind the thin cover of leaves. “Or _really_ dumb,” her grip tighted on her spear.

The pookas above started moving into the open, all of them looking down on her. It was hard to say whether the one that had spotted her earlier had led a hunting party to her after all, or some had decided to stake out the food supply that stymied them. Or maybe the whole pack had gotten together and decided to ruin her day.

The safe thing to do would have been to tear the package open and scatter it. That would have distracted at least half of them long enough for her to make a break for it. It would _also_ lose the fish that she and Micah had spent days smoking and drying for travel.

On the one claw, they probably had enough other supplies to go without. On the other, it was _her_ Stones damned fish.

She waited, keeping her eyes on the ones in the trees, shifting her cloak to look just a little bigger, but not aggressive. If she acted like she was about to attack, the whole pack would come down on her first. If she seemed to be focused on the threat ahead of her…

Catra’s smile turned predatory as she heard a scuff behind her. _There_ it was.

She spun, spear extended, and scored a gash along the chest of the pooka that had been creeping up on her right. It was a superficial wound, the chibbit tooth on the tip was meant for stabbing, not slashing. It still sent the beast leaping back with a screech.

She took advantage of the gap and bolted as more screeches erupted behind her. It was an awkward first few steps, half her concentration on stuffing the bundle into her bag, but she’d need both hands free sooner than later.

Her grin didn’t fade as branches and leaves rustled with the passage of dozens of paws behind her. Living on Beast Island was like waiting for a bomb to go off. It was constant certainty that _something_ wanted you dead. Every moment spent watching and preparing.

Sometimes, she just needed it all to blow up.

  
  


wwwwwwwww

  
  


_Six Years Ago_

Catra crept along, clutching the razor-fin she’d speared to her chest with one arm while the other carried the spear she’d grabbed. She kept needing to shift her grip, the fish threatening to slip out of the leaves she’d thrown around it with every step. The spear felt awkward in one hand, not at all like the collapsable staffs she’d trained with. Her muscles ached with the exertions of the day, and she had to stifle the occasional yawn.

It didn’t matter. She had food. She knew where to find water. She just needed to find a safe place to sleep and then…

And then…

She shook her head, ears twitching as she tried to chase the ringing out of her ears. She had to stay focused, and worry about later when she got there.

The island was covered in dips and hills, but she was pretty sure she was following an upward trend. Being up high appealed to her. It would hopefully keep her dry, and give her a better vantage.

Everything also got quieter as she approached the island’s center. Fewer shifting leaves above her, fewer distant rumbles from lumbering behemoths. She hoped that meant there would be fewer things trying to eat her.

After a while she pushed way through a curtain of vines into a small clearing. The center was taken up by a splinted tree trunk. It had cracked most of the way through, the trunk listing heavily to one side. It looked like it was being supported more by the branches tangled with the trees around it than its own roots. Looking up into it, it looked like the interior had rotted out.

“This’ll work,” Catra said to herself. She could settle in for the night, and then…

Do it all again tomorrow.

Her ears laid back, trying to shut out the ringing, as that thought turned over in her head. This wasn’t a drill. It wasn’t punishment detail, or cut rations, or even Shadow Weaver’s personal attention. It wasn’t something that she could just endure until it ended. This was just…

“No,” she growled. At some point she’d dropped the spear and fish without realizing it, and her hands were clamped over her ears. “I’m getting out of here. I’m…”

She could barely hear herself over that Horde damned ringing. Her brain felt like it was pulsing in time to it, each beat hammering thoughts home.

This was her life now.

She’d spend every day surviving. Maybe she’d get good at it. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with an empty stomach, or getting eaten by a beast. Not every day. But it would be a constant grinding effort to stay that way.

When she’d first woken up, she’d thought she could escape. She had been able to _picture_ her getaway. The idea seemed so cloudy now. There were just endless days stretching out ahead.

Between blinks she’d slumped back against the tree. Something was coiling around her, weighing her down. It was so hard to care.

“No,” another voice intruded on her thoughts, briefly overcoming the ringing. “No, no, no. You shouldn’t have gone this deep. Can you hear me? _Focus._ ”

Her eyes slowly turned upwards, meeting those of the crazy old man. She remembered him. His name was… Was… Whatever.

“Good. Listen to me. Concentrate on my voice. There’s someone out there you care about. Someone who- Focus!” He put a hand to the side of her head and lifted it. She hadn’t noticed that she’d been drooping. “Someone who _needs_ you. Can you picture them?”

It was so hard to focus. Every beat of the noise seemed to push thoughts right out of her head. But between the pulses she could catch flashes. Blond hair. Pale eyes. The flash of a smile.

She found the strength to nod.

“Good. That’s good. Hold onto that. Don’t let it go. You’re going to get back to them. Do you hear me? You’re going to see them again, and _nothing_ is going to stop you! Can you picture that? Can you tell me their name?”

Catra’s forehead scrunched up as she tried to follow the thought. Everything still felt slow and heavy. It was so hard to think past the ringing, but she could shove it aside for this. This was important.

“Adora,” she gasped. She jolted forward, and she felt the coils snap and slide off of her as she did.

“That’s right,” the old man pulled her forward and brushed the vines away. “You can’t stop here. Not until you get back to Adora.” He gathered her into his arms and headed out of the clearing. The ringing faded a little with every step.

Catra’s eyes started slipping closed again, not with the terrible weight of surrender, but with the bone deep weariness of a day that had lasted too long. She thought about running again. The way he was holding her, there wasn’t much to stop her from tearing strips out of him with her claws. 

Instead, she let sleep claim her, and dreamt of chasing Adora through steel corridors full of trees and monsters.

wwwwwwwww

_Now_

Catra’s claw shot out to seize a vine, hauling hard to make a sharp turn without losing momentum. She didn’t bother looking back when the branches behind her rustled and a cacophony of screeches rang out.

Pookas made good time swinging through the canopy, but they couldn’t turn in midair. Most of the pack would waste a few seconds reorienting before resuming the chase.

Another cyclopean ape swung down from ahead and above, jaws splayed wide in a howl. Not one from behind that had overtaken her, but an advance scout trying to herd her towards the rest.

She lifted her spear towards it, letting her run and her target’s momentum do most of the actual stabbing. A crack rang out and reverberated up the shaft and into her arm. She gave a dissatisfied growl and let go, allowing the broken spear and the pooka skewered on the end to fall to the forest floor.

With both hands freed, she dropped to all fours and poured on speed. She could have outrun them at a sprint earlier, but only for a minute or two. They’d have won on endurance, and then she’d have just died tired. Now, though…

She burst out of the trees and into daylight. Sand exploded beneath her claws as she skidded and resumed her run parallel to the shore. Without the threat of attack from above, she felt safe enough to throw a look over her shoulder. It was deeply gratifying to see one of the pookas overshoot and tumble out to splash into the ocean while the rest of the screeching pack scrambled to a halt.

A few followed along the treeline, and she cackled back at them. “Congratulations!” She jeered, “you’re the slowest things on the island!”

One of them gave an enraged shriek and launched itself down at her. She was priming herself to leap aside when a violet bolt caught the creature midair. It landed in a heap behind her, and she slowed to a walk, rising to her feet as she did.

“Do you _have_ to taunt them like that?” Micah asked. He shot a wary glare at the treeline and lowered his staff as the remaining pookas scrambled back into the forest.

“Something to remember me by,” Catra answered as they walked along the beach. A short ways ahead one of the not-quite-metal constructs that dotted the island juttet out of the forest, half buried. A jagged hole had been torn in the ocean facing side. “This place is gonna get boring once we’re gone.”

“It might have been nice if it had been boring while we were _here_ ,” Micah noted as they stepped through the hole.

“I wouldn’t have minded a few days off,” Catra grinned. She unshouldered her pack as she climbed from the sand onto rough hewn logs. The provisions from her latest trip went into a bin of woven branches near the middle. It looked like most of what they needed was there. “Only lost one of the stashes on my side. Yours?”  
  
“Two. Chibbits dug into one, and some of the berries got soaked and sprouted guff-moss.” He considered the bin alongside her, stroking his beard. “Not as much as we’d hoped, but better than our worst case scenario. I think we can make it.”   
  
“Yeah…” Catra’s shoulders sagged, a tension she’d been carrying all day working out of them. A smile, softer than the fierce grin she’d worn while dodging pookas, found its way onto her face. “This is really happening.”

“It really is,” Micah agreed with a matching expression.

The pair of them shucked their packs and cloaks into the bin before making their way to the back of the cave and hopping down. They braced themselves against the back of the platform and heaved. It barely moved by inches at first, but soon it was rolling over the smooth branches they’d placed below. Before long it was edging out into sunlight and meeting the water at the high tide line. The whole thing was a cacophony of creaks and groans.

The raft was what they’d spent every spare hour they could squeeze out of the island. The wood cut using metal pried off of the skiff she’d arrived on. The rope had been painstakingly woven from plant fibre, and then re-woven a few times as they figured out what they were doing.

Catra was actually a little proud of how it had all come together. The square raft wasn’t much to look at, but a lot of it had been her work. It turned out that years of Horde training and maintenance duty were a lot more useful in construction than Micah’s studies at Mystacor. She’d seen a couple of the attempts he’d made before she’d arrived, and it was a _good_ thing he’d never gotten far from shore.

The waves were lapping at their waists by the time the bottom stopped scraping sand. They scrambled out of the water before dropping to sit on the deck. They watched as the distance between them and Beast Island grew, pulled away by the receding tide.

“Last chance to back out,” Micah noted quietly.

“Ha, no,” Catra slapped his shoulder. Her stomach was already rebelling at the raft rocking under her. It didn’t make her smile fade even a little. “You get ready. I’ll check our course.”

She settled in just ahead of their supplies, looking to the sky to see which moons were out. It was just about possible to figure out where on Etheria you were based on their orbits. She'd gotten the basics from the Horde, and Micah had studied the celestial sphere as part of research into ritual spellcraft. Between the two of them, they'd been able to get a rough idea of where Beast Island was and what heading they'd need. It wasn't the most accurate navigation, but they mostly needed to point themselves at the mainland. As long as they made landfall outside the Fright Zone, they weren't too particular about the specifics.

Sitting at the back of the raft facing away from the island, legs crossed in a meditative stance, Micah moved his hands in a series of flowing gestures. Circles of violet light were left in their wake, hanging in the air and matching the motion of the raft. Once the array was complete he set his hands against the central circle and pushed.

Catra gripped the supply bin as pale light washed over the raft, ignoring the goosebumps as the magic passed by. She felt the timber buck beneath her feet and grinned as she felt them pick up speed.

“A little to the left,” she called out, eyeballing the moons.

“You mean starboard,” Micah corrected. “Or… Port?”

“And _that’s_ why I said left,” Catra drawled as she took a seat with her back to the mast. Micah grumbled goodnaturedly, but shifted their course left. Her eyes stayed locked on the horizon, figuring their course as best she could. Inside, something else passed through her head.

Blond hair. Pale eyes. The flash of a smile.

“I’m on my way,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that covers Catra's first and last days on Beast Island.
> 
> The flashbacks will be less frequent from here on out. They're useful context for how Catra got to where she is, but the focus is firmly on the present.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Six Years Ago _

Catra scowled down at the pile of sticks she’d collected, wishing she’d paid more attention in the Horde’s survival classes. She’d followed the instructions as closely as she could remember. Collected the driest wood she could find, scraped out a small pit. Now she just had to light it.

The suggested methods had all included things she didn’t have. Lighters from a skiff’s survival kit, a baton blaster on a low setting, maybe a little siphoned fuel to get it going. Nothing that they would have wasted on an exile. She could just about remember the ‘and if you somehow lose all of those’ lesson involving rubbing sticks together for friction.

Three snapped branches and a pair of aching hands later, she was no closer to fire than when she’d started.

She’d gotten pretty good at catching fish, but eating them raw turned her stomach worse than brown ration bars. She’d taken to spying on the old man as he’d foraged to figure out which plants were safe to eat. That had helped pad out her diet, but she’d still ended up needing to catch some of the bugs he was so fond of. She couldn’t say she was a fan.

“Speak of the witch,” she grumbled to herself, ear swiveling to face approaching footfalls. Heavier than usual. He  _ wanted _ her to know he was coming.

She didn’t gather up her things or bolt off into the trees. She could admit that if he wanted to hurt her he would have done it the night he'd pulled out of the signal. That didn’t mean she trusted him or was willing to put up with his presence. She'd left the next morning and had been stubbornly striking out on her own since.

He’d been hovering nearby just as stubbornly, and she suspected he never got out of shouting distance.

“What do you want?” She snapped without looking up.

“Just passing through,” he said as if there wasn’t an entire island he could have walked through without coming near her. “That’s a pretty good haul you’ve got there.”

“Yeah, and they’re  _ mine _ ,” Catra hissed and put herself between him and the fish she’d caught.

The old man was quick to put up his hands. He did that a lot, as if a sorcerer needed a weapon to do damage.

“Of course. But, if you’d like, I just got a fire going-”   
  
“I’ve got it covered,” she spat, not looking at the cold pile of wood beside her.

“...Of course you do,” he sighed. “But maybe I could speed things along a little?”

“I  _ said _ I have it covered. I don’t need your help, old man,” she growled, flexing her claws. Relying on someone would just make her dead weight that’d get cut off as soon as things got rough. She’d seen it dozens of times in the Horde, with only one exception.

“How about a trade?” He asked, slowly reaching down to the bag at his side. He drew out a stone and a small piece of metal that looked like it had been pried off of a skiff. “My hunt didn’t go so well today. One of those razor fins for a flame striker?”

Catra narrowed her eyes at him. She could work with that. Trading ration bars for favors usually worked out, as long as you could be sure of what you were getting. “How do I know it works?”

“If I could demonstrate?” Catra grudgingly shuffled to one side. Micah crouched in front of her firepit, frowned at it, and started pulling more from his bag.

“What? You just carry around a bunch of twigs and leaves?” She scoffed as he laid it at the foot of the wood she’d collected.

“It pays to be prepared around here,” he nodded. “Saves time looking for things when you need them.” He started scraping the rock against the steel, sending sparks raining down onto the tinder. She watched carefully as he fed the little points of flame until they were licking up around the larger branches.

She still chased him out of her camp after getting the strikers, but the next day she headed down to the broken skiff she’d arrived in. It was the work of a few minutes to cut out the thin cloth that’d been the Horde’s half hearted attempt at padding. A few more hours and some frustration got her a bag of her own.

It paid to be prepared, after all.

wwwwwwwww

_ Now _

“Captain!” A voice called down from the crow’s nest. “Flare off the port bow!”

Seahawk grinned as he turned from the wheel and caught sight of the violet burst in the sky. His smile only stretched wider when it was followed in quick succession by two more.

“Well spotted!” He hollered back as he spun the wheel and adjusted course.

He  _ knew _ he’d find something interesting if he took a little detour. And to think his first mate had tried to talk him out of adding half a day to their voyage. The man was clearly still getting used to serving under the great Seahawk. People didn’t hire him for “routine cargo runs from Salineas to Seaworthy,” they hired him for an intrepid tale of adventure!

Maybe, if this panned out, the man would put a little more trust in his captain. He might even be convinced to stay more than a month before abandoning ship for another crew. It might be nice to have a more permanent crewman on deck.

It took a surprising amount of time to spot the source of the flares, even with a spyglass. Low to the water, no sail to speak of, just a little postage stamp of wood on the open sea. There was sure to be an epic tale behind such an unlikely sight!

Daven descended from the rigging to help him with the lines, cutting sail and slowing until they drew even with the raft. This close, he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or aghast that it had lasted as long as it had. Waterlogged timber, frayed ropes, and no sun shelter to speak of. It was a wonder the single occupant in a raggedy cloak had survived at all.

“Ahoy there!” He called down. “It seems you’ve found yourself in some trou-  _ grk! _ ”

He was cut off as a clawed hand shot up from beneath the ship’s railing, grabbed him by his shirt, and yanked him down. He found himself staring into a pair of wild eyes, one blue, one yellow.

“You with the Horde?” Their owner growled.

Seahawk flicked his gaze between those mismatched eyes and where his first mate was keeping a shaky grip on his cutlass. He might have been able to reach his own weapon, but… While the girl’s claws weren’t quite at his throat, he could definitely feel them pricking through his shirt.

Well, he’d always said that valor was the better part of discretion!

“ _ Those _ rapscallions?! Not likely,” Seahawk threw his head back and laughed. “Why, any time they’re within a league of this ship they sail straight for the horizon, so great is their fear of-”

He found himself shoved away from the railing as the cat girl swung herself up and over. She landed on the deck and stared down the two sailors. He took the moment to recover from his stumble and straighten his shirt.

“...The mighty Seahawk,” he finished in a mumble. Now that his boarder was threatening him from a few paces rather than at his throat, he’d gotten a better look at her. She was soaked through, her mane of brown hair and ragged cloak hanging limp. Must have been waiting in the water and clawed her way up the hull when they’d come alongside.

She tensed as Devan took a half step towards her, and Seahawk raised a hand towards his first mate. “Steady, now. She looks like she’s had quite the adventure.”

“That’s something of an understatement.” A thread of violet light looped over the railing and soon another figure in a frayed cloak was standing on his deck. The girl relaxed a fraction as he came up beside her.

“Not Horde,” she said, tilting her head towards Seahawk. “Too flashy. Pirates?”

“Ha!” Seahawk laughed again. “I’ve been known to privateer on Salinean writ, but the greatest sailor this side of the Sea Gate doesn’t lower himself to  _ piracy _ .”

“Well then,” the man gave him a wide grin. “I think we can come to an arrangement.”

wwwwwwwww

Catra stalked down the gangplank, and gave the crowded docks below a suspicious glare as she went. It was nice to have something solid under her feet for the first time in over a week. That didn't mean she liked the feeling of so many eyes on her. There were only a few stares, but there were so many people that even the casual glances seemed to weigh her down.

She felt more than heard the footsteps on the gangplank behind her. Louder than her own, but quieter than any of the booted sailors stomping around. She stepped aside as Micah came up beside her, throwing a look his way.

He was swaying a little on his feet, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t just getting used to the floor  _ not _ rocking under him.

“We’re here,” he said, eyes not quite focusing. “We actually made it...”

“Hey,” Catra settled a hand on his arm and looked him in the eye. “You with me?”

He blinked and gave his head a small shake before a grin stretched across his face. In an instant he’d pulled her into a hug and was spinning them in a tight circle. “We made it!” He laughed, loud and clear.

Her tail bristled as she felt more eyes settling on them at the display. She still couldn’t quite keep her mouth from curling into a smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” she shrugged out of his grip and shoved him off of her. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“Of course not!” A voice called out behind them as Seahawk descended the ramp. “There’s no finer ship than the Dragon’s Daughter III. You were saved as soon as we spotted you.”

Catra snorted at that, but Micah stepped up and clasped arms with the sailor. “I can’t thank you enough, captain. Rest assured, as soon as I get to to the treasury-”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,  _ your majesty _ ,” Seahawk waved off. “Getting you back to your family is all the reward I need. After all, the greatest wage is  _ adventure! _ And the greatest adventure is love!” He cupped his chin in thought. “Mind you, the best love stories involve at least a couple sea serpents. It all comes full circle, really.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s very… Round, or whatever,” Catra said. She grabbed Micah’s wrist and tugged towards the docks. “Come on, we shouldn’t waste the daylight.”

He glanced up at the darkening sky before offering Seahawk an apologetic look. “We really should…”

“By all means,” the sailor grinned. “Go seek your lady love!” He waved as they set off.

“So,” Daven grunted as he set a barrel down at the base of the ramp. “Think he’s really…” He nodded towards the pair as they receded into the crowds.

“Oh Moons no,” Seahawk chuckled. “Crazy as a loon. Still, not a bad fellow, and ‘The King of Beast Island’ has a ring to it, don’t you think?” He hummed a few bars as he made his way back up the ramp to help unload their cargo. “Should make for a fine shanty.”

Catra huffed as she swiveled an ear away from the pair. It was probably a good thing they hadn’t believed them. Otherwise they might have been tempted to turn them in to the Horde.

Weaving her way through the press of people was an utterly alien experience. She’d seen this many people before, in the Fright Zone in the commissary or at muster, but it hadn’t been anything like this. In the Horde there had always been a singular purpose in the crowd, and everyone had moved to the same rules. Even the cheaters stuck to a pattern, ducking in and out of line or palming rations in the blind spots where cameras and officers couldn’t see.

The only creatures on Beast Island who even came close to these numbers were pookas and razor fins. Seeing so many usually meant that they were ganging up to ruin her day.

Everyone on the docks seemed to have their own mission. They were all heading their own way, carrying crates or hauling carts, and hardly seemed to pay attention to each other.

She ducked and dodged past them, slipping through gaps as she saw them. The curses she drew as she cut people off were close enough to what she’d expect in the Horde that they were almost a comfort. She didn’t quite have a destination in mind, just away from the ocean and out from under all of their eyes.

Catra threw a glance over her shoulder and stilled as she realized she’d lost track of Micah. As much as they might have stood out, they were both on the short side. It didn’t take too many bodies to block their sight lines.

She was debating whether to turn back or press on when another curse caught her ear. A sailor in a vest almost as patched as her own clothes grunted as she crossed his path. He pulled his wheelbarrow to a halt before it could barrel into her. “Watch your step, sea rat.”

She hissed and flashed her claws. She was halfway prepared to pounce when a familiar weight landed on her shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” Micah said from behind her. “We’re still recovering our land legs.”

“Sure you are. Maybe keep that one on a leash,” the sailor spat before wheeling around them.

Catra growled and flexed her claws, but stopped as Micah gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Glancing back, she saw him frowning at the man. She also saw his other hand subtly tracing a circle at waist height.

“Thank you for your kind advice. We’ll let you get back to work.” They were turning away when the wheelbarrow wrenched in the sailor’s hands, as though it’d gotten a hard shove. It toppled over on its side, spilling boxes and coils of rope over the docks. A much larger circle of cursing sailors formed around the man in short order.

Catra didn’t think she was ever going to  _ like _ magic. Too many bad memories that made her teeth itch every time she saw it. But she was willing to admit it had its uses, and allowed a smirk to cross her face.

She shrugged out of Micah’s grip, but let him take the lead as they slipped away. He seemed to have an easier time reading the flow of the crowd than she did. It didn't take long to reach the edge of the docks and passed into the streets where the crowd was a little sparser. There were still too many people for her liking, but there was enough room that she could bolt if she had to.

She hurried ahead a few steps when she caught the scent of roasting fish. Peering past a few shoulders she saw a stall with a few grills burning inside. As she watched, the owner handed off a paper wrapped bundle to one of the waiting people.

Her mouth watered and her stomach clenched. They’d been on light rations on the raft, stretching their supplies thinner and thinner as the days had drawn out. Seahawk had fed them, but the meal had been the same sort of dry travel rations they’d prepared for themselves. The temptation of fresh food was nearly overpowering.

She felt a light tap on her shoulder and realized she’d taken another step in without realizing it. She turned back to find Micah was giving her a sheepish look.

“Those do look nice, but I’m afraid we don’t have the money.”

“Money… Right,” Catra gave a slow nod. She took one last glance at the stall and caught sight of the vendor being handed a few shiny metal discs. Micah had tried explaining the concept a few times, and she understood the broad strokes. It was like trading ration bars in the Horde, except you couldn’t eat them. Or do anything else with them, except trade them to people who couldn’t use them for anything either.

She put it down to another weird Bright Moon tradition. As far as she could tell, they only made sense as long as no one thought about them too hard.

“We’ll get something better anyways,” she shrugged off as they resumed walking. She could see a few treetops past the roofs and found herself eager to reach them. It was odd. After all that time trying to get away from Beast Island, she’d expected civilization to be more appealing.

wwwwwwwww

The mainland’s forest was strange. The canopy was thin enough that she could see bits of daylight through it, and that was the  _ only _ light. Nothing shining from gaps in the bark, or glowing pods, or lights on ancient pieces of inscrutable technology. She could see signs of animals, but no signs of major fights. The only familiar tracks were the deep imprints of a brobding-beetle. The massive insect might have passed through a few days before, and was smaller than she was used to. No larger than a skiff.

And there was no Signal. Even after the days at sea, the absence of the low ringing felt almost deafening. If she strained to listen, she could  _ just _ make out what sounded like a babble of conversation that never quite resolved into words. She supposed that was as good a reason as any to call them the Whispering Woods.

“You sure this is the right way?” Catra asked. They were on what could be generously called a path, a length of forest where the trees were widely spaced and the undergrowth sparse.

“Are we still bearing north?”

Catra squinted up through a gap in the leaves to catch sight of the moons. Micah could read their positions, but she was the one who’d had actual classes on navigation, and had better eyes besides.

“Mostly, yeah.” They might need to do some correction if the path kept up its slow curve to the east, but she wasn’t too concerned yet.

“Then we should be,” Micah hedged.

“Should?” She pressed. On Beast Island she’d been able to know where she was based on the shape of collapsed machinery, or the curve of a stream, or just the scent in the air. Flying blind was unnerving.

“The woods aren’t fond of roads, but if we keep in the right direction we’ll hit the Crescent River in a few days. We’ll be able to follow that right to the palace.”

“Aren’t  _ fond _ of roads?”

“It takes some getting used to,” Micah nodded. “Any time a path lasts too long or gets too well used, it gets… Let’s say discouraged. A dead fall will block it off, or a sink hole will cave in. I heard one report of dozens of bee hives springing up overnight.”

“So we traded on murder forest for ano-” Catra stopped midstep, one ear turning towards an overgrown patch of shrub off to the side. Micah froze beside her, trusting her sharper senses.

She slowly lowered herself into a crouch, straining to hear the soft rustling and jackhammer heartbeat she’d picked up. A scruffer claw with the base wrapped to make a make-shift knife was eased out of a loop on her bag. All at once, she kicked out in one fluid motion, springing for her target.

Her strike was swift, and the struggle was short. It was the work of an instant before she was pulling the limp body from the bush. It was brown furred and long eared, with a short snout. She frowned as she turned it this way and that. There were no long claws or sharp teeth. Not even a carapace shell to protect itself.

“What is this thing?” She asked with a frown.

“A dread beast of the murder forest. Otherwise known as a rabbit,” Micah joked, relaxing as he looked over her catch. He threw another glance skyward before nodding. “And now that you’ve caught dinner, we should look for a place to camp.”

“A rabbit.” Catra tried the word out as they stepped off the trail and began the familiar search for a good place to set up. She gave the defenseless thing another look. “Is it poisonous?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“Venomous?” Who could bite who without dying was a  _ very _ important distinction.

“Definitely not.”

“Then how’d it even live this long?” She was aware that most of the world wasn’t  _ as _ bad as Beast Island, but her only other reference point was the Fright Zone. She couldn’t imagine such a creature surviving an entire hour in either place.

“Well, it’s never met  _ you _ before,” he chuckled and ruffled her hair. “The Whispering Woods may have…  _ Quirks _ , but they aren’t vicious. Not like the island.”

“Unless you’re the Horde,” Catra snorted and ducked away from his hand. She remembered the lectures on the dangers of these woods. Most of their instructors viewed them as a meat grinder. They thought that if they poured enough troops in, some might make it through to the other side. All of her survival training had been given with the understanding that she’d be dumped into the grinder sooner or later.

“A point in their favor, I believe.”

They came upon a decent enough clearing. Clear of undergrowth, not overly damp despite the nearby stream, and the branches overhead were sturdy enough to bear their weight.

Catra set to work cleaning her kill while Micah dug out a fire pit and set up a roasting spit. Between the two of them they found enough dry wood to get a fire going in short order. Her catch was strung up and giving off a savory aroma as the last of the daylight faded.

They started to cut away the parts that looked best, Catra with her claws and Micah with a scruffer claw knife. Catra stared at her portion with suspicion one last time before popping a strip into her mouth. It was quickly followed by two more, because if she was going to get food poisoning she was going to make it worth it.

It was a novel experience. The texture wasn’t as chewy as bug-flesh tended to be, or as loose as fish. The closest comparison was to the birds they managed to catch every now and then, but the flavor was completely other. In a good way.

Afterwards, with the fire buried, she went downstream. Her eyes traced the water, looking for a flash of scales or shifting silt, and she was pleased not to find anything. Settling down in the shallows, she scrubbed the accumulated salt and grime of a week at sea from herself.

“Night, old man,” she called out as she passed the tree he’d picked on the way back to camp.

“Hang tight, kid,” he answered.

She clawed her way up a different trunk, strung up her hammock, and curled up for the night. Warm, fed, and clean was a good combination any night. But without the Signal ringing in her ears… It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in years. Since the nights she’d spent at the foot of Adora’s bed.

Maybe even longer than that. That girl could  _ kick _ when she sleep fought.

wwwwwwwww

“If this is the way you’re going to behave, perhaps it would be best if I extended your grounding another week.” Angella loomed in the door, her tall willowy figure putting her head and shoulders above her daughter. Violet hair poured down her back in an elegant waterfall.

“Good!” Glimmer shouted back. “It’s not like you’d let me do anything  _ useful _ out there anyways!” The princess’s frame was short and stocky by comparison, only emphasized by her close cropped hair. A shimmering cape fell from her shoulders in imitation of her mother’s wings.

She slammed the door shut and slumped against it with a groan. That probably wasn’t going to do her any favors with her mother, but it was either that or a screaming match. She waited until she could hear her mom’s footsteps receding down the hall before stalking towards her desk.

She jumped as an arrow  _ thunked _ into the wall by her window, head snapping around to get a better look. A compartment near the head popped open and unrolled a colorful caricature of Bow, her best, only, friend. The words ‘look outside’ were written above the picture in loopy writing surrounded by hearts.

It was frankly adorable and she had to work to keep her anger up as she pulled the arrow from the wall. She took a second to move a crudely drawn picture of a Horde soldier down a couple inches to cover the mark it had left.

“Bow,” Glimmer hissed out the window and waved the arrow at him. “You  _ need _ to stop putting holes in my wall! I’m running out of posters.”

“Picture arrow!” He shouted back, shooting her a thumbs up. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Keep it down,” she pleaded.

“What was-”

Huffing, Glimmer called up her magic and searched out the feeling of her destination among the countless echoes of  _ elsewhere _ . She  _ pulled _ , and vanished in a burst of pale sparkles before arriving beside her friend. Laying her hand on his white and gold breastplate, she revered the process and put the two of them back in her room.

“Not so loud. I’m supposed to be grounded.”

Bow winced and rubbed at the back of his head. “I’m guessing there was an argument about the invasion?”

“Please. Argument implies that we both get a say.” She teleported up to her bed, where it floated up near the peak of her high vaulted room, and flopped onto her back to let her legs dangle over the edge. “My mom just gets her way without having to listen to a word I say, as usual.”

“I’m sure the queen’s just worried about you. Your magic is the only thing protecting you out there, and it’s not always… Reliable.” His words were accompanied by a few electronic beeps.

Glimmer rolled over until she was looking down at him and pointed an accusatory finger. “Not. Helping.” From her high vantage she could see that he was poking at a rectangle of glass and steel. “Working on something?”

“Sorry,” he slipped the pad back into his quiver. “I’ve been trying to add a scanning routine for First Ones’ tech to my tracker pad.”

“Any luck?” She perked up. The few pieces of working First Ones technology they had, like the map in the war room, were useful. A First Ones  _ weapon _ could be a game changer.

“I can pick up a couple of the artifacts in the palace, but either the woods are blocking any signals or nothing out there is putting one out.” He offered her an apologetic shrug.

“It’s fine,” she sighed. “It would just be nice to have a chance to actually  _ do _ something, you know?”

“I get it,” Bow nodded, and she felt herself smiling just because he  _ did _ . He was the only person she’d ever met who felt the same need to fight back that she did. When everyone else was telling her to slow down, he was the one that kept up. “We’ll get a chance to prove ourselves.”

“I hope it comes soon. Sometimes I feel like the Horde is just going to roll over us while I’m still getting sidelined.”

“Hey, I know you’re worried about Thaymor, but-” Glimmer bolted upright so quickly she almost fell off the bed before she teleported to just in front of Bow.

“I’ve been talking about  _ Elberon _ .” She grabbed his shoulders and searched his expression. “Bow. What happened to Thaymor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catra: I can't wait to get off this island!  
> Also Catra: I forgot how many jerks were out here.
> 
> A little bit of a transitional chapter, but everything's in position to start colliding.


End file.
